Rain
by divakat
Summary: "Its been raining since the day she left." Angsty little post "Shiva" song fic. After much consultation I've dropped this to a T rating. Minor suggestive themes but hidden beneath pretty words.


**NCIS has had me pulling out the Patty Griffin CD's and this song is just on a permanent look in my head right now. I had to do something to let the angst monster out. **

**This was inspired by "Rain" By Patty Griffin. I cried like a baby for a week.**

**Stepping out of my comfort zone here so I'd love to hear what you think. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS**

* * *

_It's hard to listen to a hard hard heart_

_Beating close to mine_

_Pounding up against the stone and steel_

_Walls that I won't climb_

_Sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep_

_You think that you're gonna drown_

_Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep_

_With all this rain falling down_

* * *

It started raining the day she left.

Fat cold drops falling on a city that already seemed much too somber and grey.

He's at his window now, staring up at the sky through the streaks staining the glass, watching the flashing lights of planes flying low beneath the cold steel edge of the clouds, wondering which one is hers and if she's gazing down at the city with the same ache in her chest.

He wishes he could put his finger on the moment when she slipped inside of him, innocently laid claim to the pieces he'd had no intention of ever giving again. As he watches the patterns of the rain, he realizes the moments were small, but as infinite as the droplets of water that fall beyond the glass and flood the streets.

The heat of his palm kisses the cold pane one last time before he turns from the darkness to the space that hasn't felt warm in a week.

There is no name for the instinct that tells him her feet are on the ground again but he suddenly feels the apprehension he's been holding onto so tightly drain away because if he's really honest with himself for just half a heartbeat, there's a part of him that thought she might never come back.

He's waiting, hoping, staring at the door and willing it to open, but he goes through the motions of going to sleep anyway.

He finds his rituals soothing. Cup of hot tea, last longing look in the refrigerator for the snack he's not really hungry for, sliding long limbs into boxers and a t-shirt. Normally he wouldn't bother with clothes but tonight the sound of the rain against the windows makes him so cold.

The tiny click he's been waiting for comes as he's finally drifting in that empty place between the heaviness of the waking world and the blissful weightlessness of his dreams.

He pads toward the living room on silent feet, not bothering with the light.

She's silhouetted against the glow from his window and as he steps closer he can see her wild ringlets dripping water that runs down her cheeks to her equally damp clothing and eventually forms the cold puddle he encounters with his toes.

"You're wet," he says lamely.

"I have missed the rain," she says quietly. And suddenly he wonders if the moisture that drips from her jaw is entirely due to the storm.

He studies her across the small space between them, relearns the curves and edges of her face as her eyes follow his.

"Stay." It's not a demand but a gentle plea.

He doesn't realize she's been holding her breath until it escapes her in the softest of sighs. Her hands reach for the buttons of her coat and her fingers tremble at her throat. Without a word he steps in, takes over, and he can feel how badly she's shaking.

Her coat is soaked through and he wonders just how long she was standing in the rain tonight.

He peels away layer after layer of dampness, waiting for her to tell him to stop.

She doesn't.

And when his fingertips graze the ice of her skin he can feel the heat below rise up to meet them.

Her nakedness and her silence assault every one of his senses but he waits, watching her chest rise and fall in the dimness. Her legs sway slightly as if she's fighting a war deep inside.

Finally, she moves toward him, brushes past with a whisper of softness against his shoulder and he follows without a word.

By the time he reaches the bed she's climbed beneath the covers and the hand that reaches for his is small and trembling.

"I'm so cold Tony," she whispers, voice hitching, eyes big and liquid in the muted light.

He strips off what little clothing he's wearing and climbs into the tiny bed beside her, ignoring the damp imprint her hair has left on his pillow. She turns her back and he draws her into the circle of his arms, sucking in a breath when the chill of her skin meets the heat of his.

The quiet minutes pass and her trembling gradually subsides.

They lie together, knees drawn up, long line of her back pressed to the solid warmth of his chest as he wraps around her and presses the flat of his palm to her belly. He doesn't know who needs this more but he can't help feeling that this is how it should be for them, the nakedness and the silence, just a moment when even the burden of material and language would be an unbearable and unnecessary barrier to their intimacy.

His lips move wordlessly against her hair, the curve of her ear, while his fingers fan out to span her stomach. She covers his hand with hers, pushes him lower.

"Ziva," he sighs, half wishing his closeness alone was enough to fill her emptiness tonight.

He's vaguely aware of the mattress beneath him when her body covers his and her lips whisper across his jaw. Tiny knowing fingers seek out each one of his most sensitive places and he marvels at just how well she remembers those secret vulnerabilities. He caresses the perfect flare of her hips, the delicate curves of her femininity that cover hard muscle and sinew. He lifts her and the hard and soft of them meet in tight heat and silken sighs.

Hands map her back, fingers curl against his chest and they move together, breathe together, roll and twist and writhe together until her mewling whimper betrays the silence and he's lost to the hum of her body as she quakes and pulses around him.

She stretches out on top of him and rests her head against the beat of his heart, her weight a welcome anchor that chains him to consciousness as he absently twists the tips of her curls between his fingers.

He wants to tell her everything he's been thinking while she's been gone, wants to hear about her trip and the things that brought her to his bed, but tonight he settles for the whisper of her breath against his skin and the promise of the rain tapping sweetly above his head.

* * *

_Strange how hard it rains now_

_Rows rows of big dark clouds_

_When I'm holding on underneath this shroud_

_Rain_


End file.
